


Draped in Your Desires

by ZaeraDee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: American Kylo, Fluff and Angst, Hux loves men in nice suits, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Knights of Ren Cowboy Show, Kylo loves Hux dressing him in nice suits, M/M, Miscommunication, Period-Typical Racism, Rich boy Kylo, Slow Burn, Tailor Hux, Tailor Hux au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8646868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaeraDee/pseuds/ZaeraDee
Summary: Hux is an accomplished tailor on Savile Row in London.Kylo is the rebelling, American son of an influential English family.When a ruined suit brings them together one evening, they find themselves in a whirlwind of high fashion and carefully hidden desires.Preview: It’s the middle of the night, but Hux scrambles across his room to push aside muted bolts of grey and tan, and open a dusty chest. He pulls out the coat that has gone unfinished since Kylo left. The fabric is sturdy and plush under his fingers, the lining silky and inviting. There is barely any light, but Hux sees the shapes in his head. Sitting right amongst the strewn by-products of his permeating misery, he pulls out a needle and thread, and begins to piece his heart back together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: https://zaera-d.tumblr.com/post/153145564622/bonamana-would-it-matter-burberry-au-i
> 
> Her wonderful comic is the reason this fic became a reality. I hope you enjoy this AU as much as we have!
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zaera-d
> 
> (I think I found all the typos? But I apologize if not!)
> 
>  
> 
> ~ ZaeraDee

Hux snaps the shop door closed after the last customer leaves, and turns the lock with a satisfying click. As of this moment he has been in business on Savile Row for five years – a grand accomplishment for his small tailoring shop, especially given his easily identifiable Irish background. His assistant went home early, the man threatening to contaminate the place with his horrific cold, but Hux doesn’t mind. It is the perfect opportunity to start on next season’s suit line. Given his business’s anniversary, it feels appropriate. After all, the spring line has finally given him a name amongst the upper class. He flips the light switch off and the low buzz of electricity falls silent in the darkened room. His gaze drifts from the varnished oak furnishings to the stiff mannequins, shadows soaking into the rich fabrics of the clothing he has meticulously crafted.

The tailor frowns, feeling oddly let down. His hand traces along the grain of the polished door frame before falling back to his side. He has stayed open late, in a celebration of sorts, shining his lights out into the warm evening – but now it is silent, differing from his usual end of day routine. The man rolls his stiff shoulders and shakes his head, causing ginger hairs to fall loose from their carefully styled form. It won’t do him any good to overthink his obvious fatigue.

Leaving the shop floor, he moves into his workshop. The economically sized space is also finished with the rich oak wood he fancies as a backdrop for his work. The warm hues help to bring his carefully selected fabrics to life.

He sits himself in his lightly cushioned work chair and pulls out a fresh sheet of paper from his desk. He runs a finger across the tooth of the paper, having long since discarded newsprint in favour of the higher quality sheets for even his most rudimentary sketches. He never knows when inspiration might be found from a quick drawing, and so he sorts and stores any paper his pencil touches. Fashion is a fickle beast, and he won’t be caught wasting a moment of his time or talent – especially being increasingly short of the former.

The small table clock ticks regularly beside him, the back of his pencil rapping along with the steady beat. As the minutes drag on he sighs, and sits back in his chair.

Perhaps he needs some sleep. He looks to the clock and sees his red rimmed eyes reflected back in its glass face.

Tomorrow.

Surely he will have some ideas in the morning.

But tonight, a bite to eat and bed.

Hux lets himself out of the front door and nearly runs into a large man when he turns around.

“Ah,” the man says, face shadowed in the dim street light. “Just closed up?”

“I, uh, yes,” Hux stammers, startled by the American accent andaq the man’s unexpected proximity. He takes a step back in order to regain his personal space, but finds himself already up against the glass. “Can I help you?”

The man lets out a haggard sigh and drags a large hand through his thick, wavy hair. He turns his head to reveal a sharp profile and a glimpse of pale skin. “My boneheaded friends went out on a bash and ruined my best coat, and I’m due at some posh shindig tomorrow. Someone thought a shop here might be open late, so I hoofed it like crazy.”

“A _shindig_ , you say?’ Hux blinks up at the taller man’s silhouette, trying to get a good look at him. “You wouldn’t happen to mean the Countess’s Birthday celebration?”

“Have to do what my old lady says now and again,” the man replies dismissively. “So, you going to help a guy, or am I just standing here flapping my lips?”

Hux draws in a deep breath and turns to unlock the door. It won’t do to brush off anyone on the Countess’s invite list, even an American. It’s not the first time he’s worked through the night either, but that’s usually due to a burst of creativity, not a customer with no regard for ‘closing time’. With a swift movement he pushes the door open and motions for the man to enter.

“Don’t mind if I do,” the man says and eagerly struts into the shop. “You’re a real life saver!”

“I do the utmost for my customers,” Hux replies, flipping on the lights, which flicker for a moment before illuminating the shop for the second time that night.

“No fooling.” The man says, spinning around to take in the shop. “Guess you’re the real deal.”

“Surely your acquaintances didn’t suggest otherwise?” Hux asks coolly. “You did come to Savile Row after all. We only provide top quality garments, First Order suits included.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” the American laughs again, a crooked grin pasted to his face. “It’s only, what my pal says is often a load of bull.” He stops moving to put his arms out in a very American manner and shrugs.

Hux pauses now that the man has stopped moving long enough for Hux to get a good look at: an unusual face, broad, and at least a few inches taller than Hux. If the damaged suit can’t be salvaged it will be a trial to fit him by tomorrow. The shop certainly doesn’t have anything in his size on hand. “Well, have you brought the suit with you, Mister…?”

“Oh, ah, Ren. Kylo Ren,” the large man replies, remembering himself and putting out a hand that swallows Hux’s own. “And it’s, uh, not something that would come out in the wash,” he finishes with a cringe. “Had to toss it.” He steps back and runs a hand through his dark hair once again, apparently a nervous habit.

“I can’t make any promises on such short notice, Mr. Ren, but I will make my best effort,” he offers, taking out a measuring tape from his pocket. “If you’d allow me to take some measurements...”

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Ren exclaims with relief, shirking his coat. There’s no waist coat underneath, only a thin button up – and the buttons are only partially done up.

“As you say,” Hux says stiffly, already tired by the exuberant man. He wonders what he’s done to be saddled with this… the words tall, dark and handsome flutter through his mind, as Ren drops his coat on the counter and reveals the full width of his thick arms, exposed by rolled up shirt sleeves. He clears his throat uncomfortably and gets to work. As he reaches over and around the muscular man, Hux is dreadfully grateful he doesn’t blush.

_Damn American. Dress yourself properly._

“There’s only one sort of coat suitable for such an occasion,” Hux says, unsure if Kylo Ren – _what a ridiculous name_ – is at all familiar with English sensibilities. “And I will have to make matching trousers, not simply a coat.

“If I’m going to be dressed up, at least I have somewhere to go,” Ren says, holding up his arms at Hux’s prodding. “I told you, I need my best rags.”

 _There’s that irritating smile again._ Hux scowls as he ducks down to measure his inseam.

“What time can you have it ready?” Ren asks, his arms hovering in a way that suggests he’s unsure what to do with them.

Hux straightens up and snaps the tape in front of himself before folding it neatly and draping it around his neck. “ _If_ I am able to complete it for you, it will be ready in the morning,” he replies. He will not allow a rushed product to leave his store. “You can pay me at such time.”

“Guess I have to wait and see, huh pal?” Ren says, reaching for his coat, before stopping short and turning back to Hux. “Never caught your name.”

“Hux,” he snaps, ready to get to work. 

“I will see you in the morning, _Mr. Hux_.” The man grins, his eyes dancing as he tosses on his coat and let’s himself out. He stops to wave through the window, and Hux sighs as he lifts a hand in response.   

It will be a very long night.

\---

Hux places the sleek coat on a mannequin, settling it over a contrasting waist coat and pressed shirt. He nods to himself, satisfied. His exhaustion has turned into a buzzing haze in his head, but it’s worth it. Perhaps he over did it, but the work will not embarrass him. He pops into the small toilet and splashes cold water onto his face. His assistant best show up before he falls asleep. In the meantime, he drags a comb through his fiery hair and tries to smooth it back into place.

It’s still a half-hour until opening when the sound of eager knocking drags him to the front door. “Good morning, Mr. Ren,” he says, too tired to be cranky. “Please come in.”

“What’s the word, Hux?” Ren asks, nearly dancing around the fatigued man. “I’m a bundle of nerves.”

Hux directs Ren into the changing room. “I took the liberty of matching the coat and trousers with a shirt and waist coat.” He moves behind the tall man to help him out of his current coat, and hangs it up as Ren removes the rest of his clothing. The coat is noticeably warm as he straightens it on the hanger.

Ren hands over the rest of his clothing, now nearly nude. He grabs the fresh trousers and doesn’t hesitate to dress himself. “I’m so jazzed! Let’s see how this looks.” Hux can’t help staring. What activities could the man possibly partake in to be as muscular as a labourer? Throughout the night he had needed to double check the numbers, thinking himself mistaken. The measurements didn’t lie.

“You have a – ,” Hux pauses, searching for an appropriate word, “a _different_ build than my usual clients, Mr. Ren.” _Certainly not an_ English _gentleman._ “I have taken that into consideration while choosing the cut of the garments.” He moves to help the man dress, but Ren waves him off. If Hux is honest with himself, he is more than happy to allow the American to dress himself. Taking his eyes off the man is more energy than he can currently expend.    

Very soon, Ren is dressed and stands admiring himself in the trio of mirrors. “This will get all those stuffed shirts steamed up!” he exclaims, nearly bouncing on the spot. “I owe you!” He finds Hux’s red-rimmed green eyes in the mirror and frowns.

“Aw, you look whacked, Hux,” Ren says, his deep voice dropping even lower. “I suppose you didn’t catch a wink of sleep.”

“A satisfied customer is its own reward,” he replies wryly, giving a thin smile. Seeing Ren in the suit makes him certain he will be getting new clients very shortly. “I believe I will need to order some more fabric.”

“Think I’ll be back, then?” Ren asks, turning away from the mirror to fix his gaze on Hux’s actual face.

Hux frowns. “That’s not what I was –”

Ren puts up a hand to stop him. He leans forward, his breath tickling Hux’s suddenly flushed ear. “You can bank on it.” The large man moves back as suddenly as he came forward and begins to inspect his new suit more intently.

Ren’s eyes have marvellous speckles of gold.

“I’ll wear this out, if you don’t mind,” the customer decides. “What am I missing?”

Hux is a beet. He’s certain he’s never blushed in his life, but the heat in his face can be seen in his incriminating reflection. “Let me find you a tie,” he blurts out, the words falling over each other. Scurrying out of the dressing room, he realizes he’s quit breathing. A rush of air fills his lungs as he gasps. _Has the man no propriety?_ He looks down, realizing he still has the majority of Ren’s rumpled clothing in his arms.

The clothes will need packing up if the man plans to wear the suit to go.

Hux busies himself with the mundane tasks, grateful for the time to regain his composure. It only takes a moment to fold the garments and pack them up, but he pauses over the case of ties. It isn’t like him to second guess his choices, but the obvious colour doesn’t seem like the right selection this time.

The sudden appearance of a roughened finger disrupts Hux’s view.

“How ‘bout this one?” Ren asks, pointing at a pattern Hux only stocks to prove the validity of his other choices.

“It wouldn’t be my recommendation, no,” Hux states openly.

“Give it a try,” his client prods, crooked grin back again.

“Very well.” There’s no point in arguing. Hux knows better. Humouring the customer is always quicker in the end. He slides out the drawer and picks up the slip of smooth fabric between his strong, nimble fingers. Walking back around the counter, he deftly circles Ren’s collar with the tie.

Ren bows slightly as Hux works, his dark waves falling into his eyes. “You’re quick.”

“I’m a tailor. I make my living dressing men.” Hux ties the bow expertly and steps back.

“How does it look?” Ren straightens up, raising his brows and combing back his hair with his hand.

“Would you prefer my professional opinion or my honest opinion?” It slips out before Hux can really think about it. Ren’s casual manner makes it all too easy.

 “Why don’t we start with your professional opinion?” He does his best to look serious and turns slightly from side to side to give Hux a good view.

“It’s ghastly.” Hux says bluntly. The colours are far too outrageous.

Ren chokes, then coughs, and finally doubles over, visibly shaking and slapping his leg.

“Mr. Ren, are you quite well?” He really doesn’t know how to deal with the American’s outlandish manner.

“I like you,” Ren sputters, wiping at his eyes. “Are all English this frank, or just you?”

“I suppose that depends on who you talk to.” Hux frowns, before adding. “Besides, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m _English_.”

“Ah, yes, the accent,” the wet-eyed man agrees, his face flushed from his outburst. “And you’re lovely colouring.” There is no mocking in his voice. He is quite sincere.

“I –,“ Hux swallows hard. _For God’s sake, this man_. “Would you like to see another option?”

“Hold up.” Ren puts up his hands. “Let’s have your honest answer. I think my pride can handle it.” Ren straightens up again, still chuckling. “How does this make me look?”

 _How does he look?_ With the slanted grin, wild hair and – dare he say – devilishly well-tailored suit, the man looks rather dashing. Add the flamboyant bowtie on top. . .

“Like a scoundrel,” Hux replies. “Charming, ostentatious, and I wouldn’t allow my daughter within ten feet of you – well, my hypothetical daughter.”

Ren’s eyes light up. “It’s perfect,” he says, nearly purring. “Just what I need to win the ladies.”

Hux snorts. “I don’t know how it works in America, but you are aware you need the approval of a woman’s parents if you plan to pursue her?”

“Not to worry, _Huxy_ ,” Ren says, waving off the incoming lecture. “I’m not interested in courting any floozie. I’m just making an appearance.”

“Mr. Ren!” Hux protests. “I hardly think that’s an appropriate form of address!”

“Nah, you’re right,” he replies, digging in a pocket. “These are ‘ladies of class’, right?”

“What? I mean of course, I –”

“Ah! Suit’s so comfortable I thought I was wearing my old one!” Ren stops his search, and moves to his packaged clothing to rummage through and pull out a small book. “Here’s a note. Write in whatever I owe you.” When Hux doesn’t take it, he shoves it into the tailor’s perspiring palm.  

“Thank you, Mr. Ren,” Hux says automatically, blinking away his momentary shock. “Will you be taking your other garments with you, or shall I store them for you?”

“I’ll come back for them later,” the man relies. “Now how about you catch some shut eye, while I go see if any of these dolls can dance?”

Hux shakes his head as Ren nearly prances out the door. “Good day to you, Mr. Ren.”  He slips back behind the counter to make up the note. He looks at the name and does a double-take. _Organa?_

If Ren is from the Organa family, he’s likely extensively wealthy. It also explains his appearance in London. The Organa’s moved to America a number of years ago, but they still have a significant presence in England. ‘Kylo Ren’ had to be some sort of pen name. _Well, maybe not a pen name._ Ren doesn’t strike him as someone able to sit still long enough to write more than a short telegram.

After safely tucking the payment away, Hux moves to deal with the man’s clothing. He pops into the dressing room and retrieves Ren’s coat from the wall. Now that he has a moment to himself, he takes the opportunity to examine the work. The fabric has a pleasing knap under his fingers and looks well worn. He walks back out where the light is better and holds the coat up to inspect the stitching. It’s well made, if not a bit utilitarian for someone like Ren. A pleasant scent comes off the fabric and Hux sticks his nose in the lining, wondering if it’s from the man himself, or a purchased fragrance.

Hux jumps at a bang as the door swings open. He nearly drops the coat. “Mitaka!”

“Good Morning, Mr. Hux,” his rosy cheeked assistant greets him cheerily. “Was that an early customer I saw leaving?”

“A new client I believe,” he replies, feeling a touch hopeful this is true despite Kylo Ren’s complete disturbance. Hux certainly won’t be turning away business if he does come back.

“If I may, sir, what were you doing just now?” Mitaka says, coming around to hang up his hat.

“Inspecting the fabric,” Hux says quickly with a vague wave of his hand, before adding “for differences in American manufacturing.”

“Oh, such a professional!” Mitaka claps his hands in praise, before bending over to get a close look at the jacket. “Seems a lot like that weave you brought in last year. Boy, do I still have a lot to learn!”

“It will, ah, come to you in time,” Hux assures the man. “I trust you’re feeling well again?”

“Right as rain, Mr. Hux, and ready to work,” the smaller man says with a grin. “A good night sleep was all I needed!”

“Excellent,” the tailor replies, daintily folding the coat and packing it in with Ren’s other clothing. “If you have the shop, I will be passed out in the back.”

“Yessir, Mr. Hux. You can count on me!”

“Wonderful,” Hux mutters, trudging back to his workroom. It’s too far to stumble upstairs to his flat. He collapses on his sofa, hair falling limply into his eyes.

 _Lovely,_ Ren had called his colouring.

Hux grabs a cushion and buries his head under it. London has never made him feel good about being Irish.

America on the other hand…

 _He called me lovely_.

\---

Much to his displeasure, Hux sleeps until the next morning. The sun is barely up and his stomach pangs, demanding to be fed. He supposes he forgot to eat. Ren had shown up, he had worked, and then he slept.

 _What utter chaos_.

He groans and pushes himself up, cringing at the stiffness in his neck. Stretching really needs to become part of his daily work routine. Not that anything had been routine the day before.

Trudging up the tight staircase, he winds his way up to his living space. He yawns as he pushes into the dimly lit room.

A week’s worth of unread papers lay by the trash bin, and he can smell the dishes he’s neglected to wash. From the immaculate state of the shop, no one would suspect the disparity upstairs, but Hux is simply too busy to care whether his flat is clean. It’s not as if he ever entertains company – even he hardly spends anytime here. He is far too accustomed to sleeping at his work table, or collapsing on his small chesterfield.

Pushing passed racks of old suits and bolts of fabric, he stumbles into his washroom. He looks himself up and down in the mirror, taking in his unruly hair, rough stubble and sallow eyes. “ _Lovely_ ,” he snorts. _Hardly_. Lack of sleep was responsible for his reaction to Ren yesterday. He has long since come to terms with his romantic inclinations, and is quite content to stay married to his work. Yesterday was simply his fatigue talking – or his hunger. “For food!” he chastises his subconscious. All he needs is a thorough cleaning, some breakfast, to wash a few dishes, and to start on his next set of designs.

After allowing himself a leisurely morning, Hux feels refreshed. The sun is properly up when he descends to his workshop, and he is ready for another day – business as usual.

Except nothing is business as usual. Not in the slightest.

As soon as the store opens there is commotion. Hux is bombarded with questions, orders, and critiques.

_How do you know the Organa’s?_

_Are you planning on doing business in America?_

_When will this new cut be available?_

“You’re design has made quite a splash,” his Savile neighbour is saying as Hux madly takes down order information. “I’m not sure what you intend, but this is far outside your usual realm of clientele – even my customers are in an uproar!”

“Surely it’s not such a scandal,” Hux replies, passing some swatches over to Mitaka.

“You would’t say that if you heard the ladies going on about that American scoundrel!” one of his long time clients chirps in. “He’s going to ruin one of them if they’re not careful.”

“What about the integrity of British culture?” another man laments. “Or the dreadful influences from America? First it’s that music, then those scandalous dresses, and now this! When will it end?”

“Indeed! Whatever was his mother thinking sending him over like this, and using that ridiculous stage name?” a stout man blusters, his moustache twitching. “I knew Lady Leia when she was young, and she had a great deal more common sense before running off to America with that upstart merchant!”

 “Pardon me, gentlemen,” Huxs cut in, the twittering group stopping and turning toward him. “You can’t possibly mean that Kylo Ren is Leia Organa’s son?”

“You mean you didn’t know?” his neighbour asks, eyebrows raised. “I assumed you had been in communication for months. No one shows up wearing something like that just for the hell of it. Is he not your patron, Hux?”

“I beg your pardon?” Hux scoffs. He hasn’t needed a formal patron since entering his profession!

“Oh, isn’t that splendid!” Mitaka gasps. “Why ever did you not tell me, sir?”

“Oh dear, forgive me Hux, you were planning on it being a surprise weren’t you,” the older tailor says apologetically, putting a hand on Hux’s shoulder. “Well, let’s all agree we heard nothing – isn’t that right fellows?”

The group of men nod, and offer their agreement and congratulations. “Our lips are sealed, Hux. We won’t spill your secret!”

Hux pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a sharp breath. “Oh, for all the –”

“Huxy, baby!”

_Bloody Hell._

“And there he is!” Mitaka exclaims. “Good morning, Mr. Ren!”

“ _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do_ ,” the moustached man hisses before making a hasty retreat. “ _Think of England!”_

“What does he mean by that?” Hux mutters, stealing himself for the oncoming storm of crooked smiles and pleasant scents. _I did not just think that._

“Let’s give Mr. Hux and his _client_ a little space, men,” the other tailor says, herding the group out of the shop.

“But I’m a client too!” a whine comes from out the door.

“Everything jake in here?” Ren asks as he saunters in, watching the crowd leave. “What’s all the excitement about?”

Hux drops his order book on the counter, smacking it against the glass. “You, as it were.”

“Have the whole town twittering, do I?” Ren smirks, clearly pleased. “This the place for local gossip, then?”

“Hardly,” Hux snaps, crossing his arms. “You’ve just given me a great deal of business.”

Ren leans a hip up against the side of the glass tie case, crossing his own arms. “Don’t sound so happy about it.”

“While I appreciate the business, it has come with some unfortunate circumstances,” Hux says, narrowing his eyes. “As it happens, your family background has led certain individuals to believe you are acting as my patron – something which I have _never_ hoped to need.”

The large man raises his brows, looking thoughtful. “You’re going to disappoint your customers, then? Leave them hanging when they think you’ve become the bee’s knees; a real lollapalooza out of this this poor, drab, rut in fashion? Give them a glimpse of innovation then snuff it out?”

Mitaka wilts away from the two, silently excusing himself as monstrous expressions begin to contort his employer’s face.

“Poor, drab, rut in fashion?!” Hux repeats, barely holding back a shout. “This is the height of English fashion, right here!” He storms around the counter and throws a hand up at a mannequin. “This, the latest dyes from international clothing merchants!” He whirls around and gestures emphatically at a similarly dressed form. “Here, the narrowing leg, the slight shortening of the coat, the height of the collar! Exemplar! Men’s! Fashion!” His finger presses harshly into the still bust, punctuating each word as though it were a bullet. The tailor’s chest heaves, his composure nowhere to be found. He will not lose his credibility because of some dim-witted American!

To Hux’s complete vexation and total confusion, Ren is heartily applauding. “Forgive me, Hux,” he says, his eyes crinkling. “You really are pretty impressive.”

“Excuse me?” Hux replies, blinking rapidly.

“I honestly know nothing about fashion. I just wanted to see your reaction,” Ren admits, sheepishly. He grins as though his words are already forgiven. “Your suit was such a hit at that bash yesterday it made me wonder what you’d dressed me in. Seeing you all fired up makes me even more curious.”

Hux feels his mouth open and close a few times. He bites his lip and crosses his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly very exposed. “You should apologise for making a man lose his sense for such a, a _pointless_ reason.”

Ren scratches his head, his dark eyes innocently questioning. “Isn’t that what I just did?”

“I, yes, I suppose,” Hux relents, averting his gaze. He can feel the compromising heat flare up across his face again. “And I do hope you’ll understand my hesitance in taking a patron.”

“Your pride, right?” The lightness leaves his usually jovial face, his voice taking on a choppy cadence. “You want to make your own way in the world? Not boosted up by someone else only to be tied down by their expectations?” A scowl stretches across his features, turning his unusual charm into a look that is quite terrifying.

This is the first time Hux has seen a serious side of the man. Instead of being unnerved, the sudden tension makes him relax. “Are we talking about your circumstances, or my own?” Hux queries, his posture returning to its normal state. He can relate to other man’s sentiment.

“Never mind,” Ren huffs, waving the comments off like smoke. “Let’s just say I get it?”

“Fine by me,” Hux says with a nod, remembering himself. “What _did_ bring you in today, Mr. Ren? Are you here to collect your suit?”

“Oh! I’d nearly forgotten,” Ren says, perking up. “So, uh, patron saint or not, I’ll still need some new clothes.” He pushes off the edge of the counter, his short period of brooding finished. “And seeing that my first outfit has those grousers girl’s eating their hearts out, I figure I should make a repeat performance. I’ve been invited to a number of other events.”

“I’ll never turn away a paying customer,” Hux says with a smile, feeling rather at ease compared to a few moments prior, even if his heart drops a bit when Ren mentions the ladies. “I assume you enjoyed yourself, being such a Casanova?” He asks, moving onto the sorts of conversations that are usually attractive to younger men in his shop.

Ren scrunches up his face. “God no, I hated every minute,” he admits. “All those women…not really my type.”

“Really?” Hux laughs lightly, bending over to pull out a fabric catalogue. “I suppose you’d prefer some sort of American cowgirl? A showgirl perhaps?”

“Nah…” Ren sighs wistfully, kicking at the floor idly and watching Hux flip through the book out of the corner of his eye.

It’s not that he isn’t curious, but Hux isn’t about pry. “Well, your secret agenda is safe with me,” he says, pulling out a few samples that fit his needs. “Besides, your little rebellion against the English gentry is surprisingly good for business.” And maybe he can use that. It wouldn’t be so strange for the summer line to be a bit more…innovative. Perhaps adding an element of exclusivity would motivate his elite clients to purchase something new. Now that he thinks about it, when had he become so transfixed on perfection that he set aside his art?

Ren leans against the counter, elbows resting next to Hux’s fabric selection. “These look a lot like the tie you called pug-ugly last time,” Ren says, poking at the squares and following

 Hux with his relaxed gaze. “Have some ideas?”

Hux looks up and can’t help but grin. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replies. He must admit that Ren has prodded him to create something not just bold and dynamic, but devilishly fashionable.

What a novel idea indeed.

\---

Hux leaves Mitaka in charge out front, and allows himself more time in the workshop. He has a backlog of orders already, but Ren’s designs come first. They will be the inspiration for everything that follows. The mock-ups flow easily onto the paper with his mind’s eye dancing over Ren’s form. Sometimes Hux imagines his model draped in all sorts of exotic patterns and embellishments. Other times rich solids emphasize Ren’s powerful shape and draw attention to his stunning lines. There might be orders for similar garments afterward, but no one will be able to wear them like Ren.

Designing for the American reminds Hux of his start in Ireland, and the first boy he wanted to dress. The young man had been all strong angles and sharp lines. He’d wanted to cover him in layers of fabrics – each layer fitting in perfect sequence, moving as his body moved – to create an exquisite shell highlighting an already handsome form. Since that time Hux has found himself in a constant battle of push and pull between his artistic desires and the long founded standards of fashionable wear.

But then Ren shows up. All muscle, and charm, and impulsiveness. Broad shoulders leading to a sculpted torso and perfectly moulded limbs. Dark waves frame a sharp profile, which contrast plush lips and soft eyes. His clothing hugs his body as fur shapes an animal, defining his form while hiding the true strength underneath. It’s no wonder Ren’s unorthodox behaviour and insulting comments had upset Hux. As an artist he had become complacent.

But now the ideas come, one after the other – page after page of tight lines and tapered shapes.

“I’d forgotten,” Hux murmurs, running a finger over the lines of his latest drawing, lead smearing under his fingertip.

“Forgotten ‘bout what?” Ren asks from his lounging sprawl on the low chesterfield.

“How much I love this,” Hux says, before jumping in his seat. “How long have you been sitting  there?!”

“Most of the morning.” Ren grins, shrugging. “These papers are horribly dull you know. Watching you mutter and grin like a man possessed is much more entertaining.”

“ _Har har_ ,” Hux huffs, a bit like he’s been caught naked. “I imagine you convinced Mitaka to let you back here?”

“All I did was ask him where you were,” he replies, sitting up and stretching. “He nearly pushed me in here.”

Hux frowns. “I feel as though I should be angry, but I’m much more perturbed that there has been a man back here for hours and I failed to notice.” He sighs and stands up to stretch as well. “I suppose you have nowhere better to spend your time?”

“As good a place to hide out as any,” Ren says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “I’m not accustomed to being popular.”

“That strikes me as odd.” Hux furrows his brows, trying to imagine Ren in America and failing miserably. He hasn’t the slightly idea where to picture him. “You’re not charming or handsome back home?”

Ren tips his head, eyes widening slightly. “You think I’m handsome?”

“It was only a question,” Hux retorts. Besides, he’s only stating the obvious. “Now, if you plan on cluttering up my workshop, why don’t you help me?”

His dark eyebrows rise entirely this time. “You do remember I know nothing about fashion,” Ren says, not even framing it as a question.

 “You were right when you called my work drab, whether you know it or not,” Hux insists, rummaging through some bolts of fabric he’s stacked in the room.

“My uncle always said I had good instincts.” Ren shrugs, pushing aside the papers and standing up. “But what can I help with?”

“Since you have inspired this season’s line, you can help me by modeling,” Hux says, his face straight as a board. “It will be much easier to make decisions and adjustments that way.”

“I’ve put my body to use before, but I can’t say I’ve ever been a living mannequin,” he says, a touch skeptically. “Please tell me I won’t have to stand stock still for the entire day?”

Hux smirks. “It won’t require more effort than you’re accustomed to, I’m sure,” he says. “That being said, I have been wondering what sort of bear wrestling madness you take part in overseas. You clearly do more than loaf around.”

“Bear wrestling?” Ren laughs in astonishment. “I’d go like a bat outta hell if I had to fight a bear. Have you seen those things? One of those monsters chased my uncle for an enitre mile once – still don’t know how he got away.”

“I didn’t mean in a literal way,” Hux scoffs indignantly. Not that he terribly minds the image of the other man’s muscular figure fighting some frothing beast. Ren would be wearing a silk shirt, the coat torn to reveal expensive satin lining, and the top buttons would be missing – they would have been gold…

“Hux? Can you hear me?”

A large hand is waving in front of his face. Hux jerks backward, nearly tripping over the hazardous stacks of fabric.  

“Do you need some lunch?” Ren asks, his brow crinkling. “I’m sure I can be a pretty good delivery boy.”

“I’m fine,” Hux snaps. “Just thinking.” _There’s that dastardly heat again._

“You were thinking about bears, weren’t you?” Ren’s dark hair bounces as his shoulders begin shake. His teeth glint in the noon sun coming through the small window above.

“Certainly not.” Hux grabs a bolt of fabric and sets it emphatically on his desk. His back is to the other man as he spreads the fabric and begins marking his pattern.

Why does Ren care? Better yet, why does _Hux_ care what Ren thinks?  

Hux can’t help it. He lets a small smile creep onto his face as heat spreads through his chest.  “On second thought, there’s a good bakery a block over and round the bend.”

“I’m on it, boss,” Ren laughs, bouncing out of the workshop.

Hux drags a hand through his hair, not quite sure what to do with these feelings. He stops, and looks down at his hand. “Dammit all to Hell!” When did he start picking up Ren’s mannerisms?

\---

“Ouch!”

“I told you to hold still!” Hux scolds. “Or you’re going to keep getting stuck by the pins!”

“But I hate not seeing what you’re doing,” Ren fusses, trying to turn his head without moving his body. “This job isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Hux.”

“Well, stow your impatience for a few more minutes and then you can look,” Hux says, smacking his palms on either side of Ren’s face and twisting his head forward again. “I don’t need blood all over this fabric. You have no idea how difficult it was to import this so quickly.”

“This the lot from that Indian trader?” Ren asks, giving up and trying his best not to move. “I could probably pull some strings with my dad’s shipping company if you need some more. Knowing him he’s already stir-crazy after his last excursion to who-knows-where. He’d probably fly the run himself.”

“Not much of a family man, then?” Hux looks him over before grabbing a final batch of pins.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ren says, almost shrugging before stopping himself. “Just never been around all that often – not that I have either, really.” He forces an empty laugh.

“Don’t you going flying off – I’m not done with you yet,” Hux says through a mouthful of pins that quickly disappear into the fabric. “But if you do ruin this lot, I may take you up on that offer.” Hux gives him a light smack on the back. “Done. Take a look.”

The man’s mouth gapes as he carefully checks his appearance in the mirror Hux has managed to cram into the workshop. “Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said you were going to pull out all the stops.”

“I wanted to exaggerate your build,” Hux explains with a smirk, trailing a finger down a side seam. “You’re pretty unique amongst all these soft Englishmen, so why not use that to our full advantage.”

“How about all this colour on the vest?” Ren asks. “Looks like you’re starting to live a little.” He winks at Hux.

Hux snorts, and moves around Ren to needlessly adjust the intricately embroidered waistcoat. “I wanted some embellishment to contrast the richness of the suit fabric, and to match the bits of patterned lining that are visible when you move.” He glances up at Ren, a bit anxious now that it’s almost together.

“Brilliant!” Ren grins. “Not that I wore this sort of thing back home, but I bet it’s the first of its kind.”

“Satisfied then?” Hux asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“Only you could pull it off, Huxy baby,” he laughs. “This’ll set them all buzzing for sure!”

“For God sake, Ren.” Hux scrunches up his face. “I wish you would stop. That’s almost as bad as my given name.”

“Oh, mysteries!” Ren grins impishly. “Do share!”

“Not a chance,” Hux says, shaking his head with a humourless chuckle. “If you get to hide behind that stage name, I can to hide behind my real name. Unless you’re willing to share?” His eyes narrow, daring Ren.

“It’s really not all that interesting, Hux,” Ren replies. “Really and truly.”

“Me thinketh he doth protest too much,” Hux quotes wickedly, walking back to his desk. “Silence it is.”

“Ah, don’t clam up, Hux – Ouch!” Ren jumps, cringing.

Hux freezes. “I told you to be careful,” he sighs. “Here, let me get that off you before it happens again. He moves forward and helps Ren ease off the coat, slipping his hands down one sleeve at a time to keep the pins from catching again. Hux tries not to think about how warm Ren’s skin feels through the light shirt he is wearing.

“Thanks,” Ren mutters as Hux lifts the coat free. “I hope I didn’t stain anything.” He lifts up his arms to check for tiny punctures.

“This looks fine,” Hux says, flipping the coat inside out. “How about you?”

Ren holds up his wrist. A red dot is slowly spreading down his sleeve. “Think I punctured anything important?”

“Good gracious!” Hux shouts, grabbing Ren and shoving him down to sit on the chesterfield. He quickly rolls up the sleeve and holds the arm away from anything else Ren is wearing. Let me get my first aid kit.” He grunts and heaves aside a pile of newly delivered crates, grabbing an old metal box from a shelf, and rushing back to the bleeding man.

“Don’t sprain something,” Ren says, grimacing meekly. “It doesn’t really hurt anyway. I’ve done worse wrangling cattle.”

Hux takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, calming down his breathing as he kneels beside Ren. He’s never been good with blood, and hasn’t needed to use the kit since Mitaka’s first day when he sliced his hand on a pair of scissors. The tailor’s fingers deftly dress and wrap the small wound, covering and compressing it as quickly as he is able. “That should do it.”

“Sorry Hux,” Ren says, poking at the bandage carefully. “I’m usually good at focusing when I need to.”

Hux sighs again, his blood pressure returning to normal. He slips up onto the small sofa beside Ren. “What’s this about cattle wrangling?”

“Oh.” Ren sags in his seat, turning away. “It’s nothing worth mentioning.”

“I insist,” Hux urges. He swears the other man is blushing behind his curtain of hair. “We have to take a break, so entertain me or I’ll get irritable.”

The large man flops his head back and lets out a long, anguished breath. “You’re going to think I’m some sort of grifter.”

“When I figure out what that means I’ll give you my opinion,” Hux says dryly. “I’m waiting.” He crosses his arms and leans into the corner cushions.

Hux has noticed over the last week that Ren has not only an unusual physique, but surprisingly beat-up hands, and a number of faint scars as well. He’s determined to get the story out of him, even if it doesn’t involve fighting bears in the American wild.

“Alright,” Ren relents, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “But only if you promise to keep making my suits.”

“Of course,” Hux says, rolling his eyes. As long as Ren is his resident inspiration, he won’t be letting him out of his sight – or so he wishes. “Now tell me, who the devil is _Kylo Ren_?”

Ren launches into a long and dramatic tale of running off with some of his father’s acquaintances, including an Uncle ‘Chewie’, and forming a band of show riders known as the Knights of Ren – Kylo Ren being the lead character a young Ben Solo created for himself. It seems over a decade of risky tricks, steer wrestling, and behaviour completely unacceptable to the Organa family name, forced his mother to finally corner him and send him off to London.  

Hux is certain that Leia Organa’s will be dismayed to discover this endeavour is not the end of Kylo Ren. The man refuses to even acknowledge his birth name.

Instead, Kylo wants to make enough of a mockery of his expected role that his mother will give up and he can return to his troop of show riders. It seems marrying some gentile lady and settling down is not on Ren’s agenda. The man’s displeasure at mingling with the single ladies certainly makes Hux wonder, but he knows better than to think Ren’s feelings are the result of anything other than resentment towards the women’s part in his mother’s plans.

Unlike Kylo, Hux doesn’t mind Ren’s arrival in London. The American has put Hux at the centre of a fashion whirlwind that he’s unexpectedly enjoying, and he doesn’t mind the company nearly as much as he thought he might.

“You’re disenchanted, aren’t you,” Ren asks, peeking up after Hux is introspective for too long. His brown eyes are wide and despondent. “I know I’m not much of a gentleman, American or otherwise.

“It’s actually quite…” _endearing_ , Hux wants to say, but holds back. With a busy mother and an absent father, is it really any wonder Ren craves a scenario where he is the centre of attention? In a place created solely by his own power? “It’s quite fitting really, and it explains a great deal,” he offers. “Besides, you cleanup alright,” Hux adds with a smirk

“You’re not disappointed?” he asks again, brows rising hopefully.

“A rich family sends their only son overseas in hopes of him learning some culture and putting aside whatever nonsense he has invested his time in,” Hux says, giving Ren a look. “You really think I’m all that surprised you’ve been running around in some American circus?” The idea of Ren reining in a bucking horse is even better than the bear imagery. There would be dirt flying, the man’s thick legs directing the panting horse, his own chest heaving under a sweat soaked shirt. _He could use a better costume…_

“Not a circus, Hux! Come on,” Ren whines. “It’s a horseshow!”

“So what should I call you? Lord of the Knights Ren?” Hux asks, with unneeded flair. He can’t help teasing when Ren has such as pathetic look on his face.

“You’re killing me, Hux,” Kylo says, nearly falling over onto the floor. “How about just Kylo. It’s weird being all formal.”

“Very well,” Hux agrees, keeping a straight face while feeling like he’s won. “And you may continue to call me Hux. I despise Armitage.”

Kylo bolts upright in his seat, his eyes wide. “Armitage?”

“Hux,” Hux corrects, trying not to smile, and failing. He is rewarded with a blinding, toothy grin.

“Sure thing, Huxy baby.” Kylo replies, happily.

…“No.”

\---

A number of weeks and elaborately designed suits later, Hux finds himself straightening the coat of Kylo’s newest look. Kylo is out, but even on a wood mannequin he can tell it’s his best effort yet, and feels it could win awards if there were prizes for the sinfully stylish. He runs his fingertips over the fabric, imagining Kylo’s solid frame properly filling out the form. The slight ridges of the outer seams will run along his long arms, and the silk embroidery on the waist coat will run across the tight planes of his stomach. His body will feel soft, yet solid – smooth but unyielding. Imagining the contrasting sensations sends shivers up Hux’s spine. A gasp breaks through his lips and he takes a step back.

 _Too far. Much too far._ _Kylo would never... Even if he did, the potential repercussions…_

Hux raises a fist in irritation, ready to strike the mannequin, but the fight leaves him all too quickly and he drops the hand back at his side. He returns his gaze to the suit, a longing he has never felt eating away inside of him.

Kylo will look stunning, and that will have to be enough. The best he can do is prepare the garments that are lucky enough to touch him.

He sits down at his work table, and puts pencil to paper. Nothing comes immediately – it’s too soon after the last design. He stares at the lifeless mannequin, tapping his pencil idly and visualizing how Kylo must look while he dances.

Kylo’s long legs would quickly cover the floor, and his strong arms would easily carry a partner along with him. He would sweep her across the room, his chiselled physique highlighted by only the most exquisite materials.

The sudden thought of some giddy woman clutching his powerful frame – and the suit that _Hux_ created _–_ makes him irritable all over again. If only he were allowed, Hux would touch Kylo the same way the silk moves over his body, gently caressing with deserved appreciation.

Hux finds himself frantically scratching out his own dimensions, roughly sketching in a design to match Kylo’s. He holds it up and his sharp green eyes bore a hole through the image. The drawing is ridiculous, in so many ways.

Hux angrily crumples up the paper and heaves it at his waste bin.

It bounces off the wall and lands in the middle of the floor instead.

An unexpected sob of frustration escapes Hux’s lips and his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Panic latches onto him, making his pulse race. He throws back his chair violently. The seat crashes onto the floor, and Hux tumbles after it. He trips and bashes his knees into the wood planks. His breath is ragged and scrapes in his throat. The room blurs and he can’t hold back the tears streaming down his blotchy cheeks. He reaches out blindly and claws his way onto the chesterfield, burying his face into the cushions as the sobbing turns into uncontrollable wails. His heart pains, the anguish cutting into his soul, and all he can do is muffle his cries in the plush upholstery. His body trembles and he folds in on himself.

 No one is likely to bother him at this hour, but he prays no one finds him in this state.

At some point Hux falls into a delirious sleep. A swarthy young Irish boy taunts him from outside the school, and he hides himself inside his desk, shrinking down to fit in his small sewing kit. He imagines a warm presence beside him, and the feeling of a soft touch stroking his head. Even if it’s a dream, the feeling lightens the weight crushing his heart. It’s almost as though he were a child again, when his mother would still sit with him before he fell asleep. It’s been many years since he’s felt this sort of security.

He’s taught himself to be tough enough to survive without that tenderness – or so he thought.

The morning sun wakes Hux. He blinks in the partial light, seeing the lamps have been turned off sometime during the night. The pain lingers, but he feels soothed after the comforting dream. He moves to sit up, and finds heavy fabric cloaking him.

Kylo’s suit jacket has been taken from the mannequin and is draped over his body.

Hux looks around the room for a sign of anyone, but all he notices is that the crumpled paper on the floor is gone.

He sits up, keeping the coat wrapped around his much thinner shoulders, and listens to the busy morning birds outside the small window.

\---

Kylo groans into a cushion.

“Will you please stop moaning and tell me what has happened?” Hux snaps, turning around in his chair, unable to ignore the noise behind him any longer. “Unless you’re planning on suffocating yourself in my chesterfield and allowing me to work?”

With a grumble Kylo rolls onto his side, long legs dangling off the front of the worn sofa. “They want me to dance, Hux.”

Hux blinks, confused. “I’m not sure I understand. You seemed quite set on dancing at the Countess’s party, and there have been multiple functions all summer. How have you possibly managed to avoid dancing for this long?”

“With vague intrigue – but I can’t get out of it this time” Kylo complains. “Once I saw them dancing the first time, I knew I’d stick out like a sore thumb! It will completely shatter my image.”

“And we can’t have that.” Hux shakes his head in amusement. He taps his pencil against the wood and sighs, seeing no other alternative. “Do you want me to show you?”

“To dance?” Kylo gapes, then frowns, thinking. “You know how?”

“Of course I do,” Hux retorts. “This is London.” Just because he hasn’t danced since his first year in England doesn’t mean he forgets how.

“If you don’t mind.” Kylo pushes himself up, but stops before standing. He drops his gaze and stares at the floor, his face hidden by his loose hair. His right hand moves to his front pocket, as though he wants to take something out.

“Well?” Hux asks, drumming his fingers against the back of his seat.

“Will you help me dress first?” Kylo voice is even, his hand dropping.

“Since when have you needed me to help you dress?” Hux asks, reluctantly leaving his chair to grab Kylo’s newest suit. “Finally decided to take advantage of my full professional skill set?”

“It’s just faster,” he pleads, pulling a hand through his hair – an action Hux hasn’t seen in months. “Give me a hand, please? I’ll look like a goof if I’m not used to dancing in my suit.”

“Oh, very well,” the tailor replies. He’s helped plenty of customer dress before, not to mention using Kylo like a mannequin. Hux isn’t sure why this feels different. “But don’t waste my time.” He forces a mirthful smile, going along with Kylo’s whims anyway.

Kylo is already in his shorts and reaching for the change of clothes when Hux brings the suit. He’s tense as Hux helps him into the silky shirt.

Hux quickly takes over the cuff buttons from Kylo’s fumbling fingers. Next the tailor helps him into the waist coat, this piece of fabric worth more than the rest of the suit together. “You’re a bundle of nerves, _Lord_ Ren,” Hux says, teasing him in hopes of calming whatever is causing his anxiety. “I promise no one will break in here and force themselves on you,” he chuckles lightly. When Hux looks up from the last of the buttons, he finds Kylo watching his hands, the man’s face pink. “Are you quite alright?” He reaches up and pushes the dark hair from Kylo’s unblinking eyes, putting his other hand against his hot forehead.

Kylo closes his eyes, leaning against Hux’s thin fingers. “It’s fine,” he whispers, before turning away and slipping on his pressed trousers.

Hux holds up the morning coat and Kylo slips into it, shrugging it onto his shoulders. 

“The tie.” Kylo’s voice is low and almost broken. He holds up the final piece, not moving and forcing Hux to walk around him.

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” Hux murmurs back. He’s unnerved by the sudden melancholy.  His fingers brush across Kylo’s rough palm as he takes the tie and drapes it around the man’s neck. He ties the bow with long-memorized movements before letting his hands ghost down Kylo’s firm arms, desperately wanting to run his hands over the velvet coat.

“Kylo –” Hux starts, but stops when the other man shakes his head. Instead, he holds up his hands, and waits for Kylo to meet him in hold. He bites the inside of his lip and a violent shiver runs up his spine as a warm palm slides across his lower back. His right hand is enveloped by sturdy, worn fingers. _I can do this._

Kylo takes a step forward, holding the thin tailor close. He’s sure in his movements and holds Hux tightly.

Hux catches a faint noise and realizes the other man is humming softly. He takes a step back and Kylo follows, the two falling in time to the unfamiliar music. His eyes flutter briefly as he lets Kylo lead him. “I think you’ll be just fine, you liar,” he mutters, as Kylo sweeps him around and dips him slightly. “They’ll all be falling for you, so you’d better not complain.” He grips the coat sleeve, trying to save his balance as he feels Kylo’s forehead against his own. This time he lets his eyes close.

“Maybe it’s not them I want to dance with.” Kylo’s breathe dances across Hux’s face, spinning them around. “I bet I’d trip over my feet if I had to try.”

Hux takes in the heady scent of body and fabric, and presses back against Kylo. “You shouldn’t have to,” he whispers, gasping as his lips brush against Kylo’s skin and again as he feels Kylo’s soft mouth cover his own. He melts against the touch. His right hand gently comes out of hold and brushes over the cascading waves of dark hair.

Kylo sighs against his lips, prompting Hux to let his touch wander freely over his velvet and silk encased muscles.

The kisses are soft and slow, but soon give way to a hunger Hux has buried his entire life, building on emotions beyond mere desire. His mind races from images of his first love in Ireland, to London, and the first time he meets Kylo – dark hair, and smiles, and disorder that Hux shouldn’t love but does. He wants to stop, and tell him, but he can’t. He feels like his chest will burst.

Finally they pull apart far enough to breathe. Brown eyes meet green and they are contented to stand and view each other with unabashed wonder.

“Come with me,” Hux says softly, never breaking eye contact as he tugs on Kylo’s hands. He pulls him past his growing collection of imported fabrics and through the small door that leads up to his loft.

When Hux stops at the top landing, Kylo comes up behind him, latching their hands together. “Another store room?” he murmurs over the tailor’s shoulder.

“It’s supposed to be my apartment,” Hux admits, bringing up their hands and pressing his lips to Kylo’s knuckles. “I guess you don’t entertain much,” Kylo mumbles into Hux’s stiff, ginger hair. 

“You’re the first,” Hux admits, turning around and freeing his hands so he can wrap them around Kylo’s waist. He wants to hang onto the man as long as he can before waking up from whatever dream he has stumbled into. “It’s not much, but will you come in?” he whispers, resting his head on Kylo’s broad shoulder.

“You’ve haven’t shown me all of your professional skills yet,” Kylo responds, gently tipping Hux’s face up. “Will you help me undress?”

“Very well,” Hux breathes, letting Kylo pull him in for another tender kiss.

\---

Hux wakes up to a tickling in his nose. The first thing he sees are silky locks curling down the pale skin he buried his face in before falling asleep.

“Good morning,” Kylo rumbles. “Or something. I don’t know what time it is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hux mutters sleepily, pulling his worn quilt up and wrapping himself around Kylo. “You’re very warm.”

“You’re very lovely,” Ren returns, kissing his head and nuzzling into Hux’s completely dishevelled hair.

Hux smiles shyly while he traces Ren’s jaw with delicate fingers. “No one has ever said that.”

“Their loss,” Ren replies, starting to drift off again.

“I think I’ve dreamt up a few more designs we could try before the last event of the season,” Hux says, rubbing his hand idly across Kylo’s bare back, pads of his fingers catching on small, rough scars.

Kylo hums absently. “What do you enjoy more, dressing me up in your creations, or taking them off?”

Hux laughs lightly. “Do you really want me to choose?”

“No,” Kylo admits. “I enjoy them both.”

“I told you a satisfied customer is its own reward,” Hux says, shifting to look Kylo in the eye – the one he’s bothered to open.

Kylo grins and hugs Hux close, rolling over him. “Is this what you had in mind?” He presses kisses down Hux’s neck, causing the skin to flush immediately.

“You’ve given me a great deal of surprises,” Hux gasps as the larger man continues the ministrations down his chest.  

“I’m not out of surprises,” Kylo chuckles, looking up and giving Hux a wicked grin as he drags his tongue lower. “Ready for some more?”

“Hell, Kylo,” Hux pants, “Mitaka knows not to bother me. You can have the entire day.”

“Swell deal,” he replies, drawing his palms down Hux’s soft thighs. “Grab the reins and hold tight, Huxy baby.”

 ---

The last few weeks of summer disappear between strips of fabric and the sheets of Hux’s bed. He is blissfully happy and desperately clinging to the false hope that this will last. Even when Kylo is off on personal errands he can still feel the man’s sensual touch on his skin.  His designs are more inspired than ever, and even his more conservative clients have begun to adopt some of his less brazen styles.

“What a season, Hux!” his neighbour bellows as he swings open the front door and trots up to the counter. “I’m astonished you could keep this going until autumn, but I bet you bagged a small fortune!”

“It certainly has been a boisterous social season,” Hux agrees, not having to fake a smile. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Ren if he plans on being part of the autumn line.”

“It amazes me that you’re always the last one to know these things,” the older man says, shaking his head. He hands Hux a copy of the news he grabbed on his way in. “You really need to read the paper more.”

“Oh?” Hux asks, taking the paper and spreading it over the glass.

“ _Back to Business as Usual: Father’s Rejoice as Organa’s_ Kylo Ren _Plans Return to America_ ”

“Return to America?” Hux snaps, his gut twisting. “What the blazes is this about?”

“As I said, I thought you would have known,” he replies, giving Hux a sympathetic look.

“I sure as hell did not,” Hux curses, grabbing the paper and crunching it in his fist. “Mitaka!”

“Yes, sir?” the timid man asks, peering hesitantly around a mannequin.

“When did Mr. Ren say he was returning?” Hux demands.

“A-any time now, sir,” Mitaka admirably manages to spit out. “He said he had some business to take care of.”

“I’ll bet he does.” Hux grits his teeth. “Tell him I’ll be in the back when he comes in,” he commands, nodding to his fellow tailor and making a hasty departure. He doesn’t stop in the workshop, but storms upstairs and through his apartment. He pushes open his neglected windows and leans out again the rusty grated railing, dropping the paper behind him.

He really should have seen it coming, but this doesn’t make the betrayal any easier. _Why didn’t he tell me?_

Kylo will go back to America. In his heart, Hux knows it was only a matter of time.

His knuckles are white as he grips the railing. _He better have a damned good excuse._

Kylo’s arrival is preluded by the sound of heavy feet sprinting up the tight stairwell. “Hux!” His face is flushed and sweating, his hair dishevelled. “I don’t know who the rat is, but I never told anyone about this.” He throws down his own copy of the paper, weaving around all of Hux’s discarded junk.

“You should have told me!” Hux snaps, whirling around.

“My mother’s been hounding me for weeks with letters, and wires, and telegrams,” Kylo explains. “I kept thinking I could figure something out, but there’s nothing I can do – she’s serious this time.”

“Your entire plan was to mock your mother’s wishes, and it worked. She simply waited for the least damaging time to end it. The summer is over, Ren. The people are moving back to their country homes, ready for the comforts of familiarity and tradition. They won’t need novelties or outlandish Americans anymore.” Hux’s gaze is unfocused and hazy as he falls back against the railing, turning his head to the alley below. “This season _has_ been most marvelous diversion,” he adds softly, his fingers curling up into his palms. “But this is what you wanted.”

Ren frowns, his eyes distant. “Then I guess I go back,” he says, his voice dead of emotion. “I haven’t been given a choice.”

 _Of course_. Hux can’t be surprised. _There’s always a choice, but even donned in my creations, you were never mine. There is no life here, no excitement to catch and call your own._

_You were always going to leave me._

“Hux?” Ren asks, his brows furrowing. “Nothing? Really?”

What can he even say? Don’t go? Are you coming back? I’ll miss you? _Do you know I love you?_ “Good-bye, Mr. Ren,” Hux says, looking up, his voice even and pleasant. He smiles lightly, relying on the obligatory smile he gives to his customers. If he lets himself feel even the slightest thing, he knows he will shatter. “Please, take care of yourself.”

The wind blows through the window, catching Ren’s hair, spreading the locks across his face. Neither him nor Hux move to brush them aside, their eyes locked in a stalemate neither of them is prepared for. “Fine,” Ren finally says, stomping back to the stair case. He stops to look back at a half pinned coat laying across the unmade bed. “Good luck, Hux,” he says, throwing the words down with the coat.

Hux stands alone. His eyes are dry, but he doesn’t blink. In fact he finds himself unable to move at all, numb to everything but the growing smell of rain. He wonders if he might just fall over the railing, but gravity chooses to keep him grounded. It’s unfortunate.

If he’d been honest, would it have mattered? Had he asked, would Kylo have stayed?

His scratchy eyes drift toward the coat. He stiffly moves to the edge of the bed. Unsteady fingers slowly drag the garment toward him, the pins catching on the mussed sheets. He lifts the fabric up to his face. The scent envelopes him instantly. He buries himself in the soft lining and falls to his knees.

Hux wonders why he can’t stop shaking.

Silently, he curses himself for risking everything. Now he has less than nothing.

\---

Despite his bitterness towards Hux, Kylo can’t help but carefully pack his collection of suits and take them back to New York, where his mother has summoned him. It takes strength to pack them, but the pain is fresh enough to motivate him.

It isn’t until he reaches his new home in America that his decisions drop their weight on his shoulders.

Kylo never expected to fall in love. This is in direct opposition of all his plans.

He could tell Hux was hesitant – afraid to get hurt, afraid to lose everything he’d accomplished – but Kylo pursued him anyway. It was reckless and unplanned.

No wonder Hux had all but said, “This is the day, then?”

Maybe he should have fought harder.

Maybe Hux wouldn’t have cast him out so easily.

 _You proved him right by running away._ Perhaps Kylo was also so resigned to this fate that he didn’t consider the possibility of changing it.

“I really boned this up,” he moans, into his hands. “What a dingbat.”

Kylo has spent his entire life following his whims, only to give in when his mother pushes too hard. He’s never had something he felt worth his serious effort – even spending a decade shirking any real responsibility for his life.

He stands and looks around the elaborate building he’s been given before turning on his heel and walking out.

Men are waiting outside, ready to unpack his trunks.

“Don’t bother,” he instructs them. “I won’t be staying here.” Perhaps they think him spoiled, and pouting over his accommodations, but he doesn’t care.

From now on he will make his own way in the world.

\---

“Mr. Hux just isn’t himself,” Mitaka sighs to the neighbouring tailor. “It’s not the same since Mr. Ren left.”

“He took it rather hard,” the other agrees with a nod. “I didn’t see him for weeks after.”

“I barely managed to placate his customers.” Mitaka shakes his head.

“At least he’s working again,” the tailor offers, looking around at the collection of morosely coloured suits with a frown. “Well, it’s better than the autumn line.”

“He hardly ever works into the evening anymore,” Mitaka says, lowering his voice as the delivery boy walks by the window. “It’s like his fire has been doused.”

“They, weren’t, you know…” the tailor looks over his shoulder. “ _Involved_ , you don’t think?”

“Oh gracious, I hope not,” Mitaka whispers back frantically as the door opens. “He’d lose his shop if that got out!”

“ ‘Morning, Mr. Mitaka,” the delivery boy chimes, trotting up to the counter.

“Good morning, Thanisson,” Mitaka replies with a smile. “It’s a little early for your route, isn’t it?”

“Have a special delivery for Mr. Hux today,” the fair boy replies. “Envelope says it urgent, so I’m to deliver it right away!”

Mitaka takes the envelope and gasps when he reads the sender’s name. “Mr. Hux!” he shouts, nearly tripping on his feet as he runs to the workshop.

\---

Hux reads the brief letter for what must be the thousandth time, the carefully folded paper long since bent by his trembling fingers.

_To Mr. Armitage Hux,_

_I’m sorry it’s taken this long. Can you dress me in your desires one more time?_

_Sincerely,_

_Kylo Ren_

The nerve, sending such a thing in the mail.

A cheque lies on his empty work desk. This time, the blank note is under the name Ben Solo.

\---

Kylo waits for a reply, each day increasingly unbearable, and each lonely night infinitely long. He starts to wear Hux’s suits around his small apartment, feeling his touch, even now that the tailor is far across the ocean. He wishes he could wear them during working hours.

As the clothes become worn, Kylo grieves, knowing that no other garments will able to replace the feeling. ~~~~

~~\---~~

Making Kylo's clothes had begun to feel like stroking the man's skin - a feeling that he all too soon associated with feeling at home. It was intimate, and irreplaceable. When Kylo's letter comes Hux feels angry at first. For weeks, he hates Kylo for dangling hope in front of him again.  After he’s so willing left, what will keep him from doing it again? He doesn’t think he can handle the heartbreak– but he also can’t stop reading the letter.

Sleepless nights go by as Hux lies in the dark, shivering as he holds the letter, reciting the words in his head. His homesickness becomes unbearable and he realizes his heart isn’t healing. This is when he knows, for better or worse, it’s time to go home - not by returning to his flat, but by returning to Kylo. It’s either this or he burns the letter, and Hux will hang himself by burlap before doing such a thing.

It’s the middle of the night, but Hux scrambles across his room to push aside muted bolts of grey and tan, and open a dusty chest. He pulls out the coat that has gone unfinished since Kylo left. The fabric is sturdy and plush under his fingers, the lining silky and inviting. There is barely any light, but Hux sees the shapes in his head. Sitting right amongst the strewn by-products of his permeating misery, he pulls out a needle and thread, and begins to piece his heart back together.

When Kylo’s order is set to ship overseas, Hux can't bear to say goodbye a second time. He puts Mitaka in charge of First Order, and buys a one way ticket to New York.

\---

Kylo moves to his door at the sound of “ _delivery”._ He’s not expecting anything, and pokes his head outside hesitantly, remembering a moment too late that he is wearing one of his most pretentious suits. “Hello?”

The delivery man stands with pride in his stature, even as he diverts familiar green eyes. His cheeks are flushed, adding to the flames of his fiery, windswept hair. A carefully wrapped package lies in his arms. A suit case sits beside him. It looks as though he’s just off the boat.

 _Hux_ , Kylo mouths the name, his voice failing. The door slowly falls open as he takes a step forward. He gently pulls back the brown paper and breathes in the scent of new fabric.

"You've come a long way to deliver something cheap."

"Nothing I make is cheap, you arse," Hux snaps, aghast. He finally meets Kylo's gaze.

"Everything is cheap compared to the real thing," Kylo replies with a warm smile. He carefully takes the bundle from Hux and walks into his small living room.

Hux glances around before grabbing his case and following. He hesitates, his hand on the ageing wood, but closes the door behind himself.

Kylo lovingly lays the bundle across the coffee table, then turns back to Hux. His eyes sting and he folds his arms across his chest.

Hux continues to stand by the door, eyes dancing between Kylo and the floor. "What did you mean by ‘the real thing’?" The fingers of his empty hand open and close repeatedly.

Kylo lets out a low laugh before moving forward and taking Hux's hand. He easily pulls the thin man forward, and raises Hux’s cool fingers up to his cheek. "I mean this," Kylo murmurs. "Nothing compares to the real thing."

Hux flushes again as he drops his suitcase and leans his head against Kylo's chest. "I know," he whispers. He wraps his arms around the larger man, fighting back tears. “Don’t deprive me of it again.”

Kylo buries his head in Hux’s hair; he smells like the ocean. “Never again,” Kylo promises, his own voice breaking.

They cling to each other until the immediate need for touch passes enough that they can pull back and see each other.

“I wasn’t sure you would still be here,” Hux admits.

“I work for Phasma, the Florist down the street,” Kylo blurts out, gripping Hux’s hands and squeezing them lightly. “I’m done for the day.”

Hux blinks in surprise. “You didn’t rejoin the Knights?”

“Moves too much,” Kylo says with a shrug. “and..” he pauses, looking down at their interlocked fingers. “I found somewhere else I want to belong. A real place.”

“Oh?” Hux asks, stepping so that their bodies meet. “Where is this place?”

“With you!” Kylo shouts, his eyes wide and wet, his breath catching in his throat. “I love you, Armitage Hux,” he confesses, an ugly sob breaking his voice.

“Kylo…” Hux pulls their hands up to his lips, a wet streak escaping down his own cheek and across their bound fingers. “I’m broken without you. You’ve ruined me.”

“Hux, I don’t – I’m sorry – ” Kylo sputters, anguish spreading across his face.

“Hush,” Hux whispers, stretching up and gently pressing a kiss to Kylo’s open lips. “I need you, Kylo. I love you. I know it might be foolish, but please, don’t leave me again.”

Self-restraint is all but forgotten, as Kylo envelopes the tailor in his arms. “Never again,” he says kissing him with every bit of longing he’s buried over the months apart. “Never again.”

Words are set aside for the rest of the day as tailor and patron find inspiration in each other for next season’s greatest designs.

 


End file.
